


The Birthday Cake

by kimberlyeab



Category: Metro 2033 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberlyeab/pseuds/kimberlyeab
Summary: Not every adventure in the Moscow Metro is a big one.
Kudos: 4





	The Birthday Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Anniversary Gift for RoMS, miss you and hope COVID fucks off...

There were six people in the room, surrounding a battered metal table. A single bulb illuminated the space that had probably once been a storage closet. A leaky pipe dripped off to the side and the smell of dust and mildew were heavy.

It was not the ideal location to be but this was the best that someone could do for privacy in one of the stations operated by the Red Line.

“Welcome to the first annual meeting of the Comrade Yazov Party Committee,” their host said.

He was a burly man named Dimitri, the third of his line to be named such.

This got a ripple of laughter from the other people present. There were many party committees in this station but very few of them were meant for actual parties.

“As you are aware,” Dimitri said. “Yazov is turning eighteen this year, which is quite the milestone in this station. As such, we’ve come together to ensure his eighteenth is going to be something special.” He pointed to one of the two ladies in the room. “Irina, do you have an update on your search for a venue?”

Irina was Yazov’s older sister by two years. She was a beautiful brunette who would’ve surely made a comrade of her choosing very happy if she were to wed. Though such an event had proved elusive as of yet.

“Yes, Dimitri,” she said. “If we follow the line between here and junction sixty-three, there is a little maintenance room. It was used during the war. But now it’s doing nothing but gathering dust. It can probably host about twenty people.”

“Excellent,” Dimitri said. He then pointed to the gentleman beside her. “Adrian. How goes the procurement of libations?”

Adrian was a little rat-nosed man, probably in his late twenties. He was also one of the few people in the station who owned a pair of eyeglasses. A rarity that he probably acquired due to his abundant connections with more ‘free-thinking’ metros.

“Four bottles of vodka, three bottles of wine, a bottle of whiskey, and a case of beer,” Adrian said, smiling. “My supplier was extremely sympathetic to our plight.”

“Wonderful,” Dimitri exclaimed

Irina shook her head. “Where can you possibly get that from?”

Adrian shrugged. “It is probably best that you don’t know. Don’t want the KGB breathing down your neck if I get busted.”

“They breathe down it regardless,” Irina murmured.

“Please, please,” Dimitri said, waving his head. “We are planning a birthday party. Let’s not get into politics today.”

Irina nodded, keeping her mouth shut.

Dimitri then motioned to the next of their entourage, the second woman in the room. “Katina? Have you figured out a fitting birthday gift?”

Katina was the mother of the very special birthday boy, a jolly woman who was very close to pushing the barrier into becoming a babushka. She nodded quickly, her long hair bouncing as she did so. It was red with streaks of grey.

“His brother was very helpful,” she said. “Managed to sneak away a little something from the Red Army.”

She placed a box upon the table, lifting the lid.

“Not a bad design,” Adrian admitted.

It was a pipe gun, configured to accept shotgun shells. It almost looked brand new with only a little bit of rusting on some of the components.

“How did he possibly manage to sneak that in?” Irina asked.

Katina shook her finger. “Now, now, let’s not ask questions that will get us in trouble. It is truly a blessing that I _‘stumbled’_ upon this while going for a walk.”

“You have very productive walks, Mama Katina,” Adrian joked.

Katina shrugged. “What can I say, I am a very fortunate woman.”

“And that just leaves our two assistants,” Dimitri said, pointing to the last individuals in the room. “So how goes things, Sasha and Maxim?”

They were friends, separated by less than two years. While both of them were under the fabled age of eighteen they were former classmates to Yazov. They looked almost identical with the only difference between them being in hairstyle. Sasha kept his cropped short while Maxim had his long and tied into a ponytail.

“It’s going good,” Maxim said. “We’ve managed to find almost all of the ingredients we need.”

“Almost all of them?” Dimitri asked, cocking a brow.

Maxim produced a weathered old book, placing it upon the table. The pages were ragged and had clearly seen better days. But they were still legible, showing off the recipe for some glorious food from the old days.

Something called _‘a cake’_.

The aged and torn photo of the finished project was enough to make Maxim’s mouth water.

“We’ve managed to find everything,” he explained. “Though we had to make some substitutions.”

Sasha nodded. “We didn’t know what sugar was but we know that it was sweet. So, we got honey instead.”

“And we could only find goat’s milk,” Maxim explained. “So that means that our butter and milk are a little different.”

“And let me tell you,” Sasha grumbled. “Eggs were a bitch to find.”

Mama Katina drew in a breath but didn’t say anything, merely glaring at the boys.

Dimitri snorted. “I wouldn’t doubt it. All of the eggs in this station are owned by Comrade Leonid. He’s a party hard ass. Probably asked you to go to the station dispensary and put your name in the queue for some.”

“He did,” Sasha said. “But thankfully the kind lady at the depot was nice enough to take a couple bullets to let us skip the line.”

Dimitri chuckled. “Ahh, I’m proud of you boys. Bribery is a time honoured communist tradition.” He smirked. “My grandfather used to do it when there was a whole Soviet Union.”

“So, what are you two missing out on?” Adrian asked.

Sasha sighed. “The recipe asks for either chocolate or vanilla and well…”

“What are those?” Maxim asked.

Dimitri frowned. “They were a luxury that we used to enjoy before the bombs fell.” He hummed and looked at Adrian. “Do you think…”

Adrian shook his head. “Not off the top of my head. I know a lot of traders. Some of them even peddle old world goods. But it’s been decades. Surely, all the vanilla and chocolate in the metro has spoiled by now?”

“What about old-world rations?” Mama Katina asked. “I remember when we first came down, the army would hand them out. Some of them even had little candy bars inside.”

“That could work,” Adrian admitted. “But then the question becomes where would we even find some of those? They were rare before the bombs dropped and years of survival hasn’t made them anymore common.” He shook his head. “It’d be a miracle if we even found one. Let alone one that’s in good enough shape for this recipe.”

Dimitri hummed, taping a finger against his chin. He then looked at the boys. “Is there anything else you could possibly use?”

Sasha frowned. “There was a similar recipe that asked for various berries?”

Irina beamed. “What about that botanist? You know, Ivan. He grows all sorts of weird shit up in his laboratory.”

“He’s loyal to the party,” Dimitri murmured. “It could be risky to ask him for something like that. Eggs are one thing but berries? Berries are a delicacy, something that goes straight to the Armory.”

“He has his weaknesses,” Adrian said, looking at Dimitri. “I know he’s partial to old world literature.”

“Where are we going to find that?” Sasha asked.

Adrian nodded towards the book. “Where did you find that?”

“It’s a secret,” Sasha said, puffing out his chest.

“Well, I suggest returning to that secret and finding some more books,” Adrian replied. “Hopefully that will loosen Ivan up.”

* * *

“Are you sure this is safe?” Maxim asked.

Sasha snorted. “We’re breaking the curfew of an authoritarian regime to wander through a stretch of tunnel that was closed off more than a decade ago. A tunnel, mind you, which has a bunch of scary signs posted around it.”

“But you’ve been here before?” Maxim asked. “Right?”

“Yes, I have,” Sasha said. “I think the idiots who put those signs up were just freaked out is all. There’s nothing here.”

His flashlight started to dim so he grabbed the lever on the side, rolling it around again and again until it brightened once more.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that we live in a Red Line station, my sense of adventure would make me a very rich man,” he commented.

Maxim snorted. “I don’t think there’s much of a market for old cookbooks.”

“Maybe not much of a market,” Sasha said, flashing his friend a smile. “But the market that does exist is very hungry and has very deep pockets. Do you know how much that cookbook would be worth in a Hanza station?”

“How much?” Maxim asked.

Sasha smirked. “Adrian told me that I’d get at least twenty pristine bullets for it. Not that tunnel crap either. We’re talking about the good shit; proper AK bullets from before the war.”

“Yeah, but there’s a reason those books are so expensive,” Maxim murmured. “It’s because they’re dangerous to find.”

“Bullshit. They’re expensive because our parents burned most of them to stay warm,” Sasha said.

They continued forward, advancing through the darkness. The tunnel was eerily quiet, the only sound being that of their boots crunching the rocks on either side of the tracks.

“What about those demons?” Maxim asked.

Sasha snorted. “Probably just some drunks telling stories after they got freaked out by one of those oversized rats. Plus, that’s all the way out on the fringes. No mutants in these parts.” He flashed Maxim a smile. “One of the nice things about the Red Army is that they keep the vermin away.”

They came upon an abandoned metro platform. Unlike those in the civilized parts of the metro this one was small and barren.

“Here we are,” Sasha said.

He clambered up upon the platform and extended his hand to Maxim who took it and joined him.

“What is this place?” Maxim asked.

Sasha shrugged. “A metro station that people didn’t think was important enough to settle.”

He made his way towards a set of stairs, glancing over his shoulder as he did so.

“We're under some kind of building. It’s like…” He hummed. “Do you know how in a Hanza station there’s a market with a bunch of little stalls selling stuff?”

Maxim frowned. “I’ve never been to a Hanza station in my life.”

“Neither have I,” Sasha said. “But you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“I do,” Maxim replied.

“Well, the building above us is kind of like that but way bigger,” Sasha explained. “Each of the stalls owned a piece of the building and they’re ‘ _stall_ ’ is easily the size of like five or six shacks back home. It’s amazing.”

“How much of this place did you explore?” Maxim asked. It was hard to keep the awe out of his voice.

He couldn’t honestly imagine a place like the one Sasha was describing. Though he couldn’t imagine a lot of things. He had never really left his insular little statio before

“Don’t we need gas masks if we’re heading up?” Maxim asked.

Sasha shook his head, making his way up the stairs. “The entire station is indoors and I didn’t die while I was here last time.”

He made his way up at quite the trot, clearly confident in his safety with all the noise he was making.

Maxim, on the other hand, was a bit more cautious, taking the stairs slowly. Though he knew that if there really were monsters somewhere around here, his caution would be futile.

“Do you want to know what I think, Comrade Maxim?” Sasha asked.

Maxim rolled his eyes at the title. “What do you think, Comrade Sasha?”

“I honestly don’t think this station was ever dangerous,” he explained.

“Is that so?” Maxim asked.

Sasha nodded. “I think that all of this stuff would’ve made it really hard for those goons in the Armoury to run things. They wanted to control people and to control people they needed to control all of the stuff in their stations.”

“Not a bad theory,” Maxim admitted. “Though don’t go around saying that kind of stuff back home.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Sasha said. “But you know what I mean, right?”

Maxim nodded.

“So, if a place like this, full of salvage, was found, there would be no way that the Red Line could control the flow of goods into its stations. Everyone would just come here and get whatever they needed,” Sasha said, motioning with his hand. “Hard to run something like the Red Line when everyone has everything they could possibly want. Not having to beg for scraps would make those commissars a whole lot less intimidating.”

They made it to the top of the stairs, and as promised, they entered some kind of building. It was surprisingly bright inside and as Maxim looked up, he saw that there was a massive hole in the roof that went down the entire length of the structure. This gaping wound allowed abundant moonlight to spill inside.

As he looked around, there were dozens of little stalls, each selling all sorts of weird and exciting things.

He looked into the stall immediately to the left of the stairs.

It was filled with rotten fabric and metal stands. This must’ve been some sort of place that traded in clothing before the decades rotted away at its stocks.

His gaze then went one store further, finding a second stall that seemed to specialize in similar apparel.

“Why would there be two stalls selling the same thing?” Maxim asked.

Sasha shrugged. “Maybe they really hated each other and were trying to put one another out of business?”

There was a glint at the back of the first clothing stall and Maxim stepped inside, approaching it.

Sasha didn’t comment, simply waiting at the front with an amused smile.

There was some kind of rack at the very end.

Maxim touched it, drawing in a breath as it started to rotate.

Upon it were things that had lasted far longer than clothing. These were jewels, surely diamonds, glittering upon bracelets, earrings, and pendants.

“Did you find this last time?” Maxim asked, looking at his friend.

Sasha shook his head and approached, letting out a low whistle. “That’s quite the fortune you’ve discovered.”

“This must be worth all of the bullets in the metro,” Maxim whispered. “Should we…”

Sasha bit his lip. He then shook his head.

“No, no, we definitely shouldn’t,” he said. “The Red Guard might look the other way when it comes to a lot of our mischief. But if we came back looking like Tsars? No, they would surely send us to a reeducation station.”

“You’re right,” Maxim whispered. “Though…”

“Though?” Sasha asked, raising a brow.

Maxim picked up a bracelet, showing it to him. “I’m sure we could bring one of these back for Mama Katina, right?” He smiled, running his thumb across the gemstone. “I’m sure she’d love it.”

Sasha nodded and then grabbed a necklace with a massive green gemstone dangling from a cord. “And a little something extra for Irina.” He winked at him. “Show her how much I care about her.”

“Do you honestly think you have a chance with her?” Maxim asked, rolling his eyes.

Sasha shrugged. “Eh? As much of a chance as anyone else in our station.”

They left the clothing stall and Sasha took the lead, heading further away from the stairs.

Maxim couldn’t help but look around like a tourist. Everything about this place was so foreign. What type of station must this have been before the war? Not even Hanza could hope to match the sheer amount of wealth that was on display. Even if the majority of it was derelict and rotting, this must have been a truly prosperous place at one point.

There were stalls that specialized in things that Maxim had never even heard of before. Like one that sold something called ‘ _phone’_ cases.

“What’s a phone?” Maxim asked.

Sasha shrugged. “Clearly something that needed a case. Maybe it’s some kind of weapon?”

“Why would they need weapons up here?” Maxim asked.

“Everyone needs weapons,” Sasha answered.

Maxim shook his head. “But why would the people up here need them? They had everything, what could they possibly fight over.”

“That’s a good question.” Sasha hummed. Then he snapped his fingers. “Maybe it was food? I haven’t come across any places that sold food up here.” He frowned. “Though maybe there is a place like that and all the food just rotted away.”

He stopped as they came across another store. This one specialized in something that Maxim recognized. There were books inside, more than he'd ever seen in his life. There were surely more in here than any library within the metro.

Sasha entered with his hands in his pockets, while Maxim just stared in utter awe. His feet felt heavy as he stepped inside and his jaw stood agape.

“Better close your mouth,” Sasha teased. “It’s pretty dusty in here.”

Maxim did so as he stopped in front of the nearest shelf. His heart sank as he saw the volumes. There were very few that were in anything approaching a usable state. Most were tattered, battered, and worn down. These were the mere rotted shells of something that had once been glorious.

“Now if I was a botanist,” Sasha murmured to himself. “What would I want to read?”

He looked through the shelfs, humming and hawing.

Maxim did the same, though more out of his own personal curiosity. He brushed a hand across the cover of a book that was mostly intact. It showed some kind of metal vessel going across a black canvas that was speckled with whites and yellows.

The title was cryptic, interesting.

He picked it up and flipped it over, reading the back.

It would seem that the book took place in outer space. Maxim knew little about this strange realm besides for the fact that it was beyond the Moscow Metro. He didn’t even know that people had traversed it before.

He placed the book inside of his satchel, intrigued by whatever story it could possibly tell.

“I wonder if they’re okay,” he whispered.

Had the humans in outer space survived the war?

“Found it!” Sasha yelled.

Maxim looked over and saw Sasha beaming as he held up a book. It had a series of sketches on the cover, each depicting a different kind of plant. The title said that it was a book that discussed the various plant and fungus species of Europe.

“This has hermit botanist written all over it,” Sasha said, tapping the cover.

Maxim smirked. “Then maybe find one that doesn’t have insults written all over it.”

“Hardy harr harr,” Sasha grumbled, rolling his eyes. “When did you get yourself a sense of humour?”

“It kicked in when you forced me to get a sense of adventure,” Sasha teased. He nodded towards the book. “But that’s a good find. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Sasha smirked and made his way towards the exit. “It is. Now come on, we better get back to the station before someone realizes we're missing.”

“Don’t you want to find more books?” Maxim asked.

Sasha shrugged. “Not really. We only needed to find one for our trade.” He sighed. “At least, I hope this is good enough to trade.”

“But what about for yourself? Don’t you want to read any of these books?” Maxim asked.

“Not really.” Sasha looked around, gesturing at the stall. “Stories from a dead world. What could I honestly get from these?” He paused, noticing Maxim’s saddened expression. “But…” He sighed. “I suppose we could stay a little while longer if you wanted. Though if we get caught by the Red Guard and your satchel is full of books, I’m not saving you from the firing squad.”

Maxim smirked, turning back towards the shelf. “Deal.”

* * *

_…Our ship cut through the nebula’s gases, dispersing them as we ventured forth._

_The pilot’s knuckles were white and his eyes were wide and half-crazed._

_Another hairpin maneuver pressed me into my seat, making the G-forces mount…_

Maxim’s eyes were glued to the pages, dancing across each expertly crafted line. This book was fantastic even if he knew very little about the concepts behind it.

The crew of the Halifax was more daring than even the Rangers. They were true heroes, the stuff of legends and myths.

There was a knock at Maxim’s door and he sighed, closing the book and placing it in a hole in the ground.

“I’m coming,” he called, replacing the panel that hid his contraband. “I’m coming.”

He got up and made his way over to the door, opening it.

Sasha peered in, grinning from ear to ear. “Comrade Maxim.”

“Comrade Sasha,” Maxim replied, giving him a playful smile. “Did you procure the necessary assets for the Party Planning Committee?”

Sasha nodded and stepped inside.

Maxim poked his head out and looked left and right, ensuring that no one was watching. All it would take was one KGB informant and they’d be in for a world of pain.

When Maxim didn’t see any unwanted eyes, he closed the door, snapping the lock shut. Not that it would do much good, considering that the station’s central authority had a key for every single shack.

Sasha plopped down on the edge of Maxim’s bed, reaching into his pouch. He produced a glass jar that was full of a dark blue sauce.

“Blueberry jam,” he explained, tossing it to Maxim.

Maxim caught it. “Never seen anything like it before.”

“Only people who get to enjoy it, here, are the station chief and our comrade botanist. The rest of it ends up being shipped off to the Armoury.” Sasha snorted. “The joys of living under a state-run economy.”

“Comrade,” Maxim hissed.

Sasha rolled his eyes. “Calm down, no one can hear us.”

Maxim went over to his closet, opening it. Inside was an aluminum container. He cracked it open and a coolness licked at his fingertips. Inside were the cake’s other ingredients: goat milk, goat butter, flour, and eggs.

It was a small fortune of produce, a rarity in a Red Line station. Hell, it may have even been a rare sight elsewhere in the metro. Maxim added the jam to this collection before closing the box and covering it with a sheet.

“Shall we go tell our loyal comrades at the Party Committee that we’re ready to surprise Comrade Yazov with a birthday cake?” Sasha asked.

Maxim nodded. “That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

Together they reached the door, stepping back out into the metro.

Thankfully, there were no Red Army officials waiting for them. It would seem that their little act of subterfuge had successfully flown under the radar.

“So how is outer space treating you?” Sasha asked.

Maxim grinned, making his way towards a certain leaky closet.

“Good,” he said. “I’m always a fan of an interesting story.”

* * *

[Visit my website if you want to find more of my work](https://kimberlyeab.carrd.co/)


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